Lose Your Soul
by Red Bess Rackham
Summary: Dean is flippant and casual about dying. Sam has had enough. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** Entertainment purposes only, etc. As of writing this, I haven't seen past episode 5 of season 3 (as of posting I'm just one ep away from finishing season 3), so this may not be/probably/definitely isn't canon compliant.

**A/n:** Dean Winchester has bewitched me body and soul, and essentially derailed my life. It was only a matter of time before I succumbed to writing a fic.

* * *

**Lose Your Soul**

After finding out the truth about the deal, Sam found it difficult to think straight. He felt like the world had suddenly tipped sideways and everything was tumbling down a sharp incline towards a finite and fatal end point. He couldn't find the words he wanted to express how _wrong_ of Dean it was to make this deal – because of Dad and his deal for Dean, because it meant Sam would be entirely alone instead of Dean (and Dean was always the strong one, so how was _Sam_ was supposed to survive?), because of _everything_.

"Hey, I'm on borrowed time anyways," Dean said, shrugging. "Now I just have a date on when that time is officially up."

Sam swallowed a dozen replies to Dean's glib remarks and focused on the map he'd pulled from the glove compartment.

* * *

They tracked a pack of vamps to a small town in Pennsylvania. This pack had left a trail of destruction across six states, though always managing to hide their presence before any Hunters caught up with them. Finally they'd slipped up and made a mistake, so Sam and Dean were able to locate them.

"There's a lot of them," said Sam, watching the decaying old house the vamps were holed up in. "We should get some help on this one."

"Naw," Dean replied, doing a few practice swings with the machete he'd chosen from the array in the Impala's trunk. "I can take 'em."

"Dean."

"Sorry, _we_ can take 'em."

"Dean, we should _at least_ call Bobby."

Dean stopped slicing the air and cocked his head sideways. "And what? Sit around waiting and let them get away? No thanks, Sammy. We got this."

Sam opened his mouth to protest again, but Dean grinned and spoke first.

"Look, I'm gonna die soon, but it'd be sweet if I could go out while chopping up vamps instead." He laughed, scooped up a second machete and started for the house without waiting to see if Sam would follow.

Sam bit his lip hard before snatching up his own set of weapons and jogging to catch up with his brother.

* * *

On their way to check out a case in Montana, Dean made them stop at a casino and bar for a "night of intrigue and debauchery". Sam had rolled his eyes and asked his brother why they were making this particular pit stop.

Dean climbed out of the car, and stretched his arms up and out towards the neon-lit building front, abuzz with people in flashy outfits.

"Because I have less than a year to live, so I intend to stop and smell the roses." He whooped and clapped his hands together. His gaze landed on a leggy redhead. "Or _her_ roses…"

Dean strode across the pavement towards the redhead and the blaring noise of the casino. Sam hung back momentarily, fighting the emotion clawing inside his chest.

_Stop saying that_, he thought. _You don't need to remind me how little time there is._

* * *

It was a standard demon possession – until it wasn't.

Dean slammed the door shut behind them, panting as he and Sam hastily manoeuvred furniture in front of the door. The demon on the other side did it's very best to bash it down. The whole house rattled and creaked.

"Well, that was new," said Dean with a shake of his head. He took quick stock of his remaining weapons, as did Sam.

"I'm out of holy water," Sam reported. "And salt shells."

Dean nodded grimly. "I have one left."

Sam raked his fingers through his hair, wet with sweat from battling the demon. "What do we do?"

Dean shrugged, infuriatingly casual and calm. "I go out that window and around back, come at it from behind, surprise it. You run for the car."

Sam stared. "That's your plan."

"Well, yeah."

"No – _no_ way."

"Oh come on, Sammy – "

"No, for starters I don't think you can even _fit_ through that window – "

"Are you calling me fat?" Dean quipped, but Sam ignored him.

"And you're just going to _surprise_ a demon – a _really_ powerful one, and what, hit it with your _one_ _last _rock salt shot?"

Dean pointed to his forehead. "Right between the eyes. Give us long enough to high tail it until we can figure out how to waste this S.O.B."

The demon crashed against the door and continued its awful howling scream. The furniture wasn't going to hold it off for long.

"Look, I'm dead anyways, right?" Dean glanced at the door and back at Sam. "Who cares if it's a little ahead of schedule."

He made to walk across the room towards the window, but Sam grabbed his arm as he passed and shoved him.

"_I_ care!" Sam shouted.

Dean shook him off. "Okay, fine, we go together." He brushed past Sam and proceeded to smash out the glass of the small window.

"That's not…" Sam sighed and pressed the palm of his hand to his temple.

He wanted to argue, wanted to continue this conversation and tell Dean off for continually saying crap like that, but it just wasn't the time. Not when the door behind them was splintering off its hinges and long demon arms with fingernails like knives were poking through holes in the wood.

He didn't think adding him to the plan made it any better either, but he currently didn't have a better suggestion. With a growl of frustration, he followed Dean and wiggled out the narrow window.

* * *

The brunette leaned across the table to touch Dean's arm. "But what are your goals? I mean, like, what do you want to do with your life when you're done school?"

Sam grimaced – not only because the pair of them were currently pretending to be brand new transfers to the nearby college in order to investigate some freaky deaths on campus, but because the girls currently talking their ear off in this crowded bar were asking about Dean's future.

The one he didn't have.

Sam swallowed a big gulp of his drink, unsuccessfully ignoring the slice that went through his gut every time the subject was brought up.

"Well, see, that's the thing," Dean ducked his head and sighed in a long-suffering way. "I have a brain tumor. Less than a few months to live, the docs say."

Sam sputtered into his glass as the two women at the table with them _aww_'d sympathetically. Sam shouldn't have been surprised that Dean was using his _impending death_ to pick up chicks, but it did, and struck a nerve with him nonetheless.

"I've come to terms with it, and honestly it's really freeing," Dean leaned back, his tone dripping with fake sincerity. "When you've got no future, it's a lot easier not to think about it, and live in the moment, you know?"

Sam shot out of his chair, unable to listen a second longer.

"I have to go study, right now," he said by way of explanation. Dean gave him a wide-eyed look and gestured in a _what are you doing, you idiot_ kind of way at the girls. Sam shook his head at his brother, anger burning in his throat, before shooting a tight smile at the girls.

"Sorry ladies, I have to go." He didn't bother to listen to their protests as he stormed out of the bar. And maybe it _should_ have surprised him that Dean didn't follow him, but it did not.

_After all_, thought Sam bitterly. _Less than a few months to live. Got to make them good, right, Dean?_

He punched a hole in the motel wall. Dean didn't comment on it when they checked out the next morning.

* * *

In Louisiana, they were investigating a case involving possible satanic rituals.

It was close to four in the morning and Sam had been staring at his laptop for something like nineteen hours straight, but he wasn't close to stopping, despite the growing headache and burning eyes. He stubbornly refused to believe that there truly was no way out of this deal for Dean. There _had_ to be a way, no matter how obscure, and he would find it. He _would_. Losing Dean wasn't an option.

In the other bed in the room, Dean stirred then groaned.

"Why are you still awake," he slurred from his pillow.

Sam smirked a little than replied, "Just researching." He conveniently didn't specify _what_.

"You gonna sleep some time this decade?"

"Soon."

Dean moaned and mumbled something that sounded like _your loss_ and fell back asleep.

Sam shot a glare at the tangle of blankets Dean was wrapped in. How did he do it? How could he sleep, and so easily and soundly, knowing Death was coming for him? How was he _so_ damn cavalier about the whole thing? As much he loved his brother, Sam also hated him right now. Hated him for sacrificing himself for Sam, for laying that same guilt on Sam that he'd felt after Dad had made his deal, and for being so very _okay_ with it all.

Sam didn't care that Dean regularly told him off for searching for a way to break the deal (with increasing passion and intensity). He could be as pissed as he wanted, he could forbid Sam and demand and whatever else, but Sam was _never _going to stop. Even if Dean had given up, Sam hadn't and _wouldn't_.

He had promised himself that the moment he'd learned what had happened, and he intended to keep that promise.

* * *

Sam was exhausted from lack of sleep and the constant stress of knowing Dean's death was drawing ever closer, and he still had found no way to stop it.

"Stop worrying, Sammy," Dean said, tossing his brother a smirk as they drove down the road. Farms and fields whipped past them on either side. "It'll be over soon."

Sam clenched his jaw and had to actively concentrate on breathing. And not reaching over and absolutely throttling Dean.

"What?" Dean glanced at his passenger.

"You're not seriously asking me that," said Sam. He kept his eyes trained on the bland horizon.

"What?" Dean repeated, sounding genuinely confused, and again Sam used an incredible amount of willpower to restrain himself from cracking his brother over the head while he was driving.

"You told me to stop worrying about you _dying_, and then you're asking me what's wrong when I didn't reply."

"You had a _look_. So I said '_what'_. "

"Stop the car."

Dean snorted. "Come on. It's not a big deal."

"Dean, _stop the damn car._"

When the car didn't slow down, Sam reached over and gave a sharp pull on the steering wheel.

"Hey! Whoa! _Whoa!_" Dean shouted, regaining control. "Okay, okay! I'm stopping! Geez."

The car slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the highway, gravel crunching noisily under the tires. Dean was looking at him incredulously, and Sam climbed out, slamming the door hard behind him. He sucked in deep breaths of fresh air as wind ruffled his brown hair. He heard Dean exit the car after him, though he was a lot gentler with the driver's door.

"What the hell, Sam! What's your problem?"

Sam whirled on his brother. "_My_ problem? My _problem?_"

"That is what I asked, yeah."

"My _problem_ is that we've got less than a few months before you die. Before you go to Hell, _for me_, because _you_ made a deal with a _demon_. My _problem_ is that I seem to be the only one who cares that that is going to happen."

One corner of Dean's lips quirked up. "Sammy," he began, and Sam could tell from a mile away he was about to get all flippant and jokey again.

"No, no don't you _dare_," Sam snapped. "Don't shrug it off. Don't tell me to stop worrying, don't tell me not to care, don't tell me to stop finding a way to save you, because it's _not going to happen_."

Dean dropped his gaze from Sam's flushed features, his eyebrows crunched together with what Sam hoped was guilt.

"And I'm not apologizing for any of it," Sam added in a much softer tone. "You're my brother and I can't lose you."

A few long minutes passed where neither of them spoke. The only sound was the wind whipping through the tall grass in the fields nearby, and the occasional car blazing a trail down the highway. Sam wished Dean would say something, maybe let him off the hook – _surely_ he understood how Sam felt. If Dean had known what their father was planning to do ahead of time, Dean would've turned the planet inside out looking for a solution.

"Well, you're going to," Dean finally said, his voice fragile and splintered.

The look in his eyes was so _haunted_ and _tired_ that it made Sam's chest ache. Dean was done; he had made his bed and he was going to lie in it. He was finished, ready, expectant. He'd given in, given up. Sam hated that look more than he had ever hated anything in the world.

"Dean…"

Dean swallowed, and just like that, his brother was closed off again. The vulnerability Sam had witnessed vanished, pulled back in and buried deep.

"People are getting eviscerated in Arizona, Sammy, let's not keep them waiting." Dean grinned and turned on his heel, striding back to the Impala.

_Damn you, Dean,_ Sam thought.

* * *

The entire building was overrun with vicious spirits, yet Dean still wanted to go in and set off this thing Bobby had given them, which would be the equivalent of a spirit nuclear bomb.

Sam shook his head and swiped away the blood running into his eyes. "Dean, you _can't_ go in there."

Dean picked up the device from Bobby. "I'll be fine, Sammy."

"You'll be dead – it's suicide."

Dean laughed, deep and honestly amused. "Hell Sammy, I'm dead anyways in a couple weeks. It doesn't matter."

It wasn't the time, it wasn't the place, but Sam didn't care – he couldn't take it anymore. So he pulled his arm back and let his fist fly, smacking right into Dean's jaw. Sam caught the device as it left Dean's fingers before it hit the ground, and Dean reeled backwards in shock.

Clutching his face, Dean yelled, "What the hell was _that_ for?"

"It matters!" Sam shouted back. All the emotion he'd been wrestling with for months and months tore through his skin – all the anger and guilt and pain. He couldn't breathe and he couldn't see, and something was shredding his insides and _God_ _why did Dean ever make that deal?_

"What?!"

"It matters that you still have time left, and it _matters_ that you don't die _today_!" Sam realized tears were streaming down his face as Dean stood there gaping at him, an ugly bruise starting to form on his cheek. "Will you _stop_ acting so fucking _casual_ about this!"

The building behind them was exploding with screams and wails of spirits, and the walls were shuddering and cracking. A plume of fire shot out of the chimney.

"D'you really think this is the time to discuss this?" Dean roared.

"Why not?" Sam shot back hoarsely, his hands shaking.

"_Seriously_?!"

Bobby burst forth from the dark of the trees to the right of the house, his hat threatening to fly off as he ran. "_Are you two idiots going to detonate that thing or not!"_ he bellowed.

Sam took off for the house without a second thought, ignoring Dean hollering his name behind him. He pounded up the steps to the house, ripped open the front door and threw the device in. Shadowy limbs and corpse hands reached for him, eyes of red and black and yellow peered, gaping mouths with too many teeth called to him, and he stumbled back as fast as he could. A few lucky spirits grasped snatches of his clothes and left him with bloody scrapes before Bobby and Dean were there, blowing copious amounts of rock salt in the doorway so Sam could scramble out of the way. The three of them wasted no time making for the safety of the trees as the device went off, taking the entire house down with it.

They took a few moments to catch their breath and Dean was watching Sam carefully as though worried he might lash out again. Sam couldn't bring himself to look at his brother for several minutes. He still felt raw and angry, his thoughts tumbling around in his head like a load of laundry in the dryer.

Finally Dean broke the silence, opting, as usual, to make light of everything. "That was an adventure, eh boys?"

Bobby rolled his eyes.

Sam stormed away before he hit Dean in the face again like he _very_ much wanted to.

"Sam…"

"_Don't_," Sam warned over his shoulder.

"Give him some space, son," Bobby told Dean quietly. "Give him some space."

* * *

When they were only days away from the deadline, Sam was a wreck. He couldn't remember when he'd last eaten, last slept, last thought of anything other than Dean dying.

"You're scaring me," Dean commented, setting a bag of fast food down on the table in their motel room. "Just eat something, for God's sake. You're like a damn skeleton."

Sam didn't reply. He had a dozen books open and scattered around, as well as his laptop. _He had to find a way, he had to find a way, he had to…_

Dean sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. "Sammy, it's over, all right? You tried. Even though I told you a thousand, _thousand _times not to. You tried, and it's over." He paused, waiting for a response which never came, then snapped his fingers in front of Sam's face. "Hello in there – you hearing anything I'm saying?"

Sam shook his head. No, he hadn't tried _hard enough_, that's what it was. He'd wasted too much of the past year hunting down things when he could have been researching and following leads on _this_ and nothing else. How had he ever let anything take up such precious time?

His vision blurred and finally he spoke, his voice scratchy and soft. "Why are you so calm?"

"Look, Sam, I've accepted it. I'm calm because I've accepted that it's gonna happen. Nothing we can do."

"Well, _I haven't!_" Sam burst out, his sudden volume making Dean flinch. "I haven't and I can't! I can't… I…"

Dean swallowed. "I know. But it's done." He opened up the fast food bag and started munching on fries, as if his life wasn't going to end in three days.

"_God_, Dean, could you… could you at least _act_ like it's a big deal? For _once_?"

"Why? What good would that do, huh?"

"It would – " Sam began.

"Make you feel better? Would it? You want me to be fearful and mopey and all _woe is me_?" Dean snapped. "What would be the point of that?"

Sam clenched his jaw.

"I can't feel bad, Sam, and you know why? Because you're alive, and you get to _stay_ alive. I don't feel bad about that and I don't regret it. You get to keep going."

"Without you," added Sam, his voice flat and dead.

Dean swallowed and it was a good minute before he replied. "Yeah."

* * *

The night before the demon came to collect, Sam and Dean stretched out on the grass in front of the Impala with a couple six packs of beer. They told each other stories, reminisced their craziest hunts, made each other laugh. They made a pact not to think about or mention what was to come until the sun came up, and they managed not to break it.

When the stars began to fade and the sky transitioned from inky blackness to varying shades of blue, they reluctantly stood and wordlessly climbed into the car. As Dean drove, Sam felt panic rising in his chest the closer they got to the crossroads (they didn't need to go there – the demon could collect Dean anywhere she wanted – but it seemed fitting to be _there_ when it happened). He wished he could tell what Dean was thinking, but his face was carefully blank.

Sam clutched his hands in his lap but it did little to stop their shaking. He cast around silently for _some_ avenue he never explored, knowing there were none – he'd exhausted every possible lead (and a whole ton of improbable ones). There was simply no way to stop the deal.

His breath began to catch in his throat as they turned down the gravel road and the panic was thundering through him, crashing against his chest, tearing up his insides, pounding in his head. This was it, this was the end, this was where he lost Dean forever.

"Stop," Sam demanded suddenly.

"We can't, Sam."

"Dean, _stop_." Sam was dizzy, nauseous, trembling all over. The moment the Impala ground to an abrupt halt, he flung open the passenger door and clambered out, emptying his stomach into the ditch. He tried to blink away the tears in his eyes but they wouldn't stop coming.

Dean said nothing, simply gave him a few minutes to pull himself together.

Sam got back into the car, and they only drove another minute or two before they reached the crossroads. The sun would be completely up soon. Dean turned off the ignition and put the car in park. He handed Sam the keys.

"Take good care of my baby," he said somberly. He blinked furiously, suddenly unable to look at Sam and quickly exited the car.

Sam hurried out too and rushed to Dean's side.

This was it, this was goodbye – goodbye _forever – _and he didn't know what to say, didn't know where to start, _how do you say goodbye forever._ The words clogged his throat and Dean didn't seem to be doing any better, as a muscle in his jaw twitched. Finally Sam simply threw his arms around his brother and hugged him tight as he tried not to sob into Dean's leather jacket. Dean hugged him back just as fiercely.

"How touching," a voice said, and the boys broke apart.

The crossroads demon had arrived.

"And I didn't even have to send my dogs after you," she said, titling her head to regard the pair of them, a slight pout on her pretty features. "Shame. The mauling is my favorite part."

Dean straightened, squaring his shoulders and took a few steps forwards. "Yeah, well, too bad for you."

The demon smiled and looked past Dean at Sam.

"Said all your goodbyes, sweetie?" she asked, her voice like honey over razor blades.

Sam couldn't find his voice to form a reply.

"Let's go, bitch," Dean snapped. "I don't have all day."

The demon woman grinned, touching a dainty finger to her cheek. "Now that _is_ true, isn't it?"

Dean lifted his chin and glared at her.

"Any last words?"

_Yes_, Sam thought desperately. _A thousand of them – don't leave me here alone. God, Dean, don't leave me here alone…_

Dean faced Sam, his mouth set in a grim line, his complexion ashen.

"You turn around and get in my car and you drive," Dean ordered. "Don't look back. I don't want you to see this. Don't ever look back, Sammy."

Sam bit his lip, fighting a losing battle with tears filling his eyes. "My big brother. Still trying to protect me."

Dean smiled. "Always."

Sam clutched the car keys so hard they cut into his hands. He could feel a trickle of blood slide down his palm. He took several stumbling steps backwards towards the car, fighting the overwhelming instinct to intervene somehow and stop the demon from taking his brother's life, deal or no deal. He fumbled open the car door and climbed in, and watched in the rear view mirror as Dean returned his gaze to the demon.

Sam started down the road as the sun crested the horizon in the east.

Dean opened his arms, welcoming Death.

* * *

Two miles down the road, Sam pulled over to the side of road, no longer able to drive as sobs wracked his body. The image of Dean holding his arms out was burned into his eyelids and couldn't stop picturing the flash of fire that had consumed his brother and the crossroads demon. Sam had blinked and they were gone.

It was a long time before Sam stopped shaking enough to be able to drive again. He felt hopeless, numb and utterly lost, flailing and choking in the dark. He headed in the direction of Bobby's because he had nowhere else to go, flipping the visor down against the sun's brilliant glare.

Sam tried to breathe.

He'd failed Dean while he was still alive, but he refused to fail him after death. Dean kept saying that it was over, but Sam did _not_ believe that was true. Not with the things he'd seen and done. Maybe it was some totally irrational hope or wish, but Sam seized on it anyways, and made a new promise to himself, and to Dean: he'd find a way to bring him back from Hell.

**-end-**

* * *

**A/n: **Thank you for reading! Feedback & reviews are love. :) (Also, if I can ask really nicely, please don't leave say anything spoilery about the show past season 3, as I'm working my way through the series for the first time - I can't wait to see more of it. :D)


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